


And I Know What You're Thinking

by amathela



Category: Doom (2005)
Genre: F/M, Incest, Psychic Bond, Resolved Sexual Tension, Something Made Them Do It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 08:44:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4740107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amathela/pseuds/amathela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The C-24 is fucked up, but it's not supposed to be quite this fucked up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I Know What You're Thinking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Etnoe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etnoe/gifts).



The two words that change everything are _I'm compatible_.

It's true, but that's not why he volunteers. Part of him is screaming for him to shut up, that it's a bad idea, and he knows that. He's not even sure he wants what's in his blood right now, has no idea how a secondhand transfusion might change things, but Sam's hurt, and he also knows this might be her only chance.

"My blood type," he says. "It's compatible. Let me donate."

-

He knows the minute she wakes up.

He's halfway across the facility, in the middle of a series of tests he's fairly certain by now are just for show, given that he's not locked up or being dissected right now. One minute everything's normal, and the next there's a tugging sensation low in his gut, an almost physical ache pulling him towards the hospital ward. He manages to get through his tests, but the longer he delays the worse it gets, until the effort of staying still is almost worse than the consequences of running out.

He walks instead of running. Tries to keep it together.

The moment he sees her, he thinks, _I'm fucked._

-

It's not just the difficulty - hell, the near-impossibility - of being apart, though that's part of it. His skin sparks when he touches her, his heart leaps when he looks at her, and other parts of him - well, he tries not to think about what they're doing.

They're given leave almost without being asked, and while that solves a few problems, it also creates some of its own. Like the fact that, when they're stuck together in the same living quarters without anything else to occupy them, it becomes very difficult to think about anything except Sam. The way her eyes crinkle when she laughs, the line in the corner of her mouth when she's frustrated or concerned, the way she tucks her hair behind her ears or touches her wrist or looks at him, sometimes -

Like he said, fucked.

-

He exercises to let out some of the tension, not that it helps much. Sometimes Sam watches, just close enough that he can feel her, sense the way her breath hitches as he takes off his shirt.

"Could I do that?" she asks as he latches onto an exposed roof beam to use as a makeshift pull-up bar.

"Could you do that before?" he counters.

She laughs, soft and lilting, and it hits him in the pit of his stomach. "Not likely."

"Do you want to try?"

She looks at him consideringly for a moment, and then steps forward. Enhanced reflexes of not, he's not sure she'll be able to grab the bar, so he lowers himself down and lifts her up instead, breathing deeply as his hands grip her waist.

"Now what?" she asks.

"Now you pull," he says, but he thinks, _good question._

-

It takes three days before it reaches a boiling point, and that much is almost a miracle. He hasn't been able to sleep since they got home, with the C-24 humming in his veins and Sam so close and too far away at once, so he's pacing instead, up and down the hallway that connects their rooms. He's facing the other way when her door opens, but he still knows, the way he knows when she comes to stand behind him, when she raises her hand like she's going to touch him and then lowers it again.

"Can't sleep?" he asks. He doesn't turn around.

"Not with you keeping me up," she says.

"I thought I was being quiet." In fact, he knows he was. Strength, speed, stealth. There's not a lot he can't do these days.

"It's not that," she says, and he does turn around, then, though he knows it's a mistake. Her hair is still messy from sleep, her eyes half-lidded, and he clenches his hands into fists to stop himself reaching for her. "I can sense you out here."

So. It's not just him. He tries not to, and wonders anyway, how much else of it isn't just him.

"We should go to bed," he says, his voice strained. Having her this close, this late at night, isn't helping his self-control.

"And not sleep some more?" she asks. Her voice is light, teasing, but there's something underneath it, too.

"Sam," he says.

"John," she says. And then, more quietly, "I can feel you."

"We shouldn't -"

"I can sense you," she says. "And I can't ..."

"Sam," he says again, warningly. 

"I want -"

He reaches for her before she's finished, putting a hand on her waist and pulling her towards him. She kisses him back when he kisses her, like she knew it was coming, reacts to his touch like she knows what's happening before he does. His skin burns everywhere she touches him, lessening his control with each passing second, but at the same time his head feels clearer, like he's only able to think when he's touching her, kissing her, fucking her -

He calls her name when he comes, and everything suddenly zooms into focus, like everything that's been keeping him from thinking straight is gone. The burn of her touch has lessened to a faint spark, and he still _wants_ , but for the first time since this started, he doesn't feel like he might die if he has to be apart from her.

Sam's rolled over, staring at him, and he doesn't notice until he glances over at her.

"That's interesting," she says, and he raises an eyebrow.

"So it's an experiment now?"

"Not deliberately," she says, a faint blush adding to her already-flushed cheeks. "But don't you feel -"

"Different," he agrees. "Yeah."

"I wonder if the effects are permanent," she says. "Or if we'll have to -"

She doesn't finish the sentence, but even without being in her head any more, he knows what she was about to say.

"We can think about it tomorrow," he says, trailing his hand across her hip. "Right now, we sleep."

And for the first time in three days, he does.


End file.
